


Two Mile Hollow

by iskra667



Category: Oz (TV), Stranger by the Lake (2013)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Serial Killer, dark!Toby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskra667/pseuds/iskra667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a East Hampton cruising beach, bored attorney Tobias Beecher meets an alluring stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Mile Hollow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/gifts).



> Pairings: Beecher/Keller, with past Beecher/Schillinger and side Beecher/Jazz Hoyt and Keller/Bryce Tibbets.  
> Warning: graphic description of rough sex turning into noncon and murder. Really, really fucked up Toby. Mindgames.
> 
> Written for this Oz Magi 2014 wish:
> 
> Pairing/Character(s): Beecher/Keller  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: Inspired by the French movie ”Stranger by the lake”. Not very literally, just something like this: Beecher meets a mysterious stranger (Keller) at a popular pickup spot. He starts to suspect his new lover is a serial killer.  
> Canon/AU/Either: AU  
> Special Requests: I’m not easily squicked, so all sorts of kinks and mind-games is very welcome. Angst and smut very welcome.  
> Story/Art/Either: Story

Toby maneuvered his Toyota through the parking lot, circling the arena at snail pace to evaluate the meat on display. 3pm on a Friday afternoon, he didn't have to negotiate his way though ram-packed cars, the serious action would only start in 5 odd hours. But by then he was due at Mother's summer house for some social do or other, and he had exactly 2 hours to get what he came for before his absence at the country club became too obvious for Gen to be able to wave it off without publicly losing face. Wherever you went, it was always the same tiring dance of mimic and pretend in the end. 

He kept a steady foot on the gas pedal, exceedingly proud of his muscle control, to avoid having to use his brakes. Flashing your brake light had major significance here, just like flashing your Rolex or raising one eyebrow at a passing waiter did elsewhere.  
He methodically catalogued the cars: one Mercedes, two Mercedes, one BMW, a few neat, nondescript middle class cars, one flashy gold Porsche that made him sneer. He passed a Harley, exciting prospect, but the beast was abandoned, its owner no doubt already occupied. He passed a beat-up pick-up truck and his heartbeat raised a notch or two as he checked his rear-view mirror (no tailgater) and pressed his foot on the brake once, twice, three times before carefully picking up pace. The blush crept up his cheeks as he checked his mirror again, excitement raising in his chest and in his groin. But the truck just stayed put and Toby dejectedly settled for parking in the middle of a large free space (no misunderstanding possible for the cars on either side) and waiting for his fate.

He didn't have to wait long before a silver Mercedes pulled to his left hand side. The driver eyed Toby through two layers of tinted glass and Toby eyed him back. Short dark hair, clean shaven, Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Corporate closet type just like Toby. But Toby didn't want to fuck a carbon-copy of himself. Toby didn't do silver Mercedes and designer casual wear. A black Mercedes and a business suit in the middle of a scorching afternoon, he could have settled for, though as far away from his preferred type as the great American Wage Gap, spurred on by juvenile fantasies of 'American psycho' high flying psychopath. Toby shook his head no, his face a mask of bored indifference, locked his car and walked off towards the beach.

***

Naked bodies, toned or not so toned, dotted the beach. At the very limit of Toby's short-sighted range, some lucky fucker was getting a blowjob. The air was suffocating and heavy, the see breeze barely offering reprieve. It would be pure Hell further inland, in Mother's garden. In this heat, the black leathers casually abandoned by a beach towel looked incongruous. The mysterious biker. Toby shrugged. His curiosity was spiked and it was not like he had any better prospect waiting in store, since the truck driver had already snubbed him.

Toby dropped his things on the sand and started methodically applying factor 30 sunscreen. Little chance to get fucked if he looked like a lobster. Mind you, there was no accounting for some people's kinks.

He had been tormenting himself about how the mineral screen made him look like a ghost, and whether or not he should have gone for the cheap, nasty, chemical screen, despite how stinky they were, when a large shadow obstructed the sun, and Toby looked up. 

Some guy was getting out of the water, looking for all purpose like he'd just been born from it, spat out of the wild into Toby's carefully controlled, aseptised world, looking as out of place in civilization as some mythical berserker. So why was Toby the one suddenly feeling out of place? The guy shook himself like a dog and water droplets flew from his body, rippling along his toned muscles. Toby wanted to lick every single one of them. Toby would happily have drunk litres of sea water just for a chance to touch this guy.

 _Look at me look at me look at me_ screamed Toby's mind, his eyes glued to the stranger. 

And for once the Heavens must have kept an ear on his sorry pleas because the guy not only looked at him, but started walking towards him, gifted him with a thousand watt grin as he drop his ass in the sand two meters from Toby and started drying himself off with a white towel. A nondescript white towel, probably from Walmart. Not such a savage god after all, but Toby didn't care. This guy was real and Toby wanted him. Toby had never wanted anyone that much for more than a decade. Toby had never wanted anyone that much ever. 

Toby forced his heart rate down and laid himself on his stomach, his bare ass clearly on display, his face turned towards the stranger, shamelessly staring at him though his lashes. Time to shed the fantasies, get real and send clear, unambiguous signals. Somehow, Toby didn't worry one bit about being misread. He had known this guy for all of 2 minutes but he could feel the power and control radiating from him, the cold, calculating intelligence on those piercing blue eyes. This guy would not need to be spelled out what Toby wanted, what Toby needed. This guy would read Toby like an open book and dig between the lines, unasked. All Toby had to do was grow the balls to ask for it and go for it.

 _I want you I want you I want you_ his mind screamed as he felt those icy eyes skim across him, weigh him, pierce him, hold his gaze, daring him to flinch. Toby forced himself still until the evaluation was over, displaying his trust, his readiness, all but handing over control in the palm of his hand for the stranger to pluck.

“Where the fuck have you been? I've been waiting for ages in the dunes!” came a high-pitched, pissed-off shriek. Breaking the stranger's gaze, and the magic. 

The stranger looked up up towards the newcomer, and so did Toby. Blond, early twenties, toned, lithe and bronzed, artfully swept up hair. He could have looked a like a younger version of Toby, the same upper-class, preppy charm, except it was obvious that guy would never get the premature worry lines from raising a family he was not even sure he wanted, nor the padding of fat and sallow skin from drowning out the burden of his double life one time too many. Toby hated him. Toby hated him with a depth of vicious passion he never knew was within him. Toby envied him. 

The twink barely spared one brief sneer for Toby, before turning his imperious gaze back to the stranger. The stranger held up his hands in mock surrender before getting up, throwing Toby a playful wink and a grin before disappearing into the dunes.

Toby eyed the once more abandoned leather and felt a sob well in his throat. He didn't even bother telling himself off for such a ridiculous response. However much reason told him otherwise, he knew with certainty it was not ridiculous at all.

Toby wandered off into the dunes. He didn't know what he was looking for, whether he entertained fantasies of getting _his_ stranger back from the evil clutches of the imposter, or whether he just sought the usual short-term reprieve from his own mind.

He found them easily enough, the dunes were not that big after all. The twink was riding his stranger, looking smug, like he just found himself a class A stud. Though the stranger lay passively on his back, he looked powerful and in control, almost detached, like he was floating way above such mundanities, like they didn't touch him at all. Toby made eye contact with him once more, but this time, it was Toby's gaze that was piercing, steely. _You deserve so much better. I could give you so much better._ The stranger stared deep into Toby's eyes for a very long time, until the twink above him shuddered and gasped.

Toby looked away and walked off. He needed to forget. He needed to get fucked, even if he had to hold the guy's hand and spell out every single gesture for him. He needed a little something to tide him over tonight, lest he resorted to way too much of another something, a way more obvious, less easily hidden something. It was all about survival in the end. Damage control.

Toby spotted a guy in the dunes, lazily fondling his cock as he stared at Toby. The guy was slightly taller than Toby, which was no feat in itself, and twice as wide, covered in tattoos. He wasn't Toby's dark god, but Toby only had one hour left on his schedule so he'd do in a pinch. Unless he turned out to be one of those large, fuzzy, cuddly Teddy Bears who liked nothing more than the be pushed to their knees and fucked up the ass, in which case Toby would be pissed. Really pissed. 

Toby walked to the guy. “Call me 'bitch'”, he demanded imperiously, “Tell me I was born to take cock. Tell me how good it feels to fuck my holes.” He trailed off, raising an acerbic eyebrow as though daring _I trust even you can muster the wits to improvise on these lines._

“Sure, man” the guy said mildly. “Bitch” he added in afterthought. Toby huffed and assumed position. It was too late to go on casting elsewhere.

As he got his ass pounded, Toby's mind wandered back to the past. It had all started with Vern. He blamed Vern for all this mess. Half the time, Toby wished he'd never crossed path with Vern. Maybe then he'd been able to breeze through existence without yearning, live a life of quiet desperation in blissful ignorance of what he was missing. The other half, Toby wished he hadn't lost Vern that soon, or else found his balls and himself straight after he'd lost him. Vern had been Toby's sponsor in his freshman year at Harvard. A couple years older, a postman's son on an athletic scholarship. Toby was unsure what 'sponsor' usually entailed, but he guessed banal things like showing Toby the ropes, in exchange for Toby performing small chores like returning his library books or fetching him a coke. Even back then, lost, geeky and almost-virgin as he was, Toby was pretty confident that shining Vern's boots and doing his laundry was pushing the definition of the job. He was very confident that slapping Toby around after he got drunk at his first frat-house party and pushing his cock past his lips was completely out of line. Why he never said anything or tried to put a stop to it, he never knew. Of course it was comfortable, now, to think shame, or shyness, had held him back. But after all these years he could still feel the physical relief, the deep sense of peace, as he remembered Vern turning up like clockwork in his dorm room on weekdays, demanding a blowjob before leaving him to study ('good boy'), sneaking into Toby's bed on Friday and Saturday night, fully expected Toby to be available, ready and sober. There was no wondering what party to go to, how much to drink, what girl to date. All he had to worry about was study and do what Vern expected of him. In his freshman year, Toby had been a model student, if a very sexually active one. Then, in Toby's sophomore year, Vern had tried to pull the same stunt on some new fish and got himself expelled. Toby had been filled with hateful glee, but whether it was was for getting revenge for what Vern had done to him, or for Vern getting bored and turning his attentions elsewhere, Toby did not like to dwell on it. Then Toby had discovered booze, and moved on with his life. He married Gen, had kids. His other vice, he seldom indulged, only when the pressure cooker in his brain threatened to explode and destroy everything in his wake, when he felt the reins he held on his primary vice on the brink of snapping. But the peace he found in these brief, anonymous encounters was a as elusive as the brief simulation of deeply hidden nerve endings. These men were players, pretenders. All they wanted was the use of Toby's body for a mere few minutes, hours at best. They had no use for Toby.

***

One barely satisfying fuck later, Toby limped back to the beach to collect his stuff. The black leathers still lay abandoned, shining like a beacon in the late afternoon glow. 

_Lucky fucker_ spat Toby, wishing with all his soul the twink obliterated from the face of Earth. 

***

One martini, two martinis, three martinis, and fuck knows how many glasses of French champagne later, Toby could not get the stranger out of his head. He'd escaped Gen's and his Mother's clutches, politely(-ish?) dodged attempts at mindless small talk and was now swaying gently on his feet, staring at the full moon in the darkest recess of Mother's garden. 

He imagined the stranger laying him down on the grass, in their very own private Eden, gently laving the blood with his tongue when Toby pricked himself on thorns, plucking the thorns and carving his name on the skin above Toby's heart, on Toby's ass. His name, what was his stranger's name? Toby felt overwhelmed by anguish. He didn't know his stranger's name. He needed to know, felt the urgency. Right now.

***

How Toby drove back to the beach in one piece, the unlit road swaying on both sides, headlights blurring from all directions at once, he'd never know. Surely it was fate. His dark god had guided him there. 

Toby parked the car sideways, stumbled through the dunes, swearing as his foot caught in weeds, and made it to the beach.

By the shore in his dress shirt in the middle of the night, Toby started shivering and felt foolish. Of course his stranger was no longer here. He had a life, unlike Toby. Had gone clubbing, or taken the twink home. 

Until voices shook him out of his own mind.

An urgent plea. “Slow down, you're hurting me.”

Toby followed the voices. Some grunts and labored whimpers.

His stranger was fucking the twink, the twink bent in half, his legs on his shoulders. 

Toby felt his cock swell and his asshole pulse. He wanted to lay on his back, spread his legs wide for his stranger, let him pound his ass as hard as he wished. Toby would not ask him to slow down. 

A high-pitched sob. “Chris, please. Stop now.”

His stranger. Chris. _Chris_ Toby chanted in his mind as he frantically stroked his cock.

He heard a muffled scream, then a curse. Chris had one hand on the twink's mouth and the twink had tried to bite him. His other hand held the twink's wrists above his head.

As Chris's hand dropped to the twink's throat, Toby's other hand moved to his asshole, and he jerked his cock frantically as Chris pounded the twink.

Toby came in his hand with a whimper as he watched Chris shudder, pressing himself deep into the twink one last time. At the same moment, the light went off in the boy's eyes.

****

Toby was woken up at 5am by a throbbing headache and screeching seagulls. He was in his car, reeking of booze and cum and, for the umpteenth time in his life, solemnly swore to never do it again and get his act together.

He drove himself home on autopilot and collapsed in the pool house. No way was Gen seeing him like this.

***

At noon, the sunshine fell on his face and he blinked. His headache has receded (the silver lining of developing a tolerance to alcohol) and he had a raging hard on, despite feeling all sticky with cum. From 10pm onwards, yesterday was all a blur. He remembered missing out on his dreamboat stranger at the beach, settling for a quick, unsatisfying fuck, driving back to Mother's and drinking too much to numb the dullness. Then dreamlike images. His stranger marking him in the Garden of Eden, then killing the sacrificial lamb as Toby watched. He and his stranger reaching ecstasy together, locked in in each other's gaze, their union sanctified in blood.

He let out a sharp, self-deprecating snort. That was sick, even by his standards.

***

Later this afternoon, Toby excused himself from the country club and drove back to the beach. Maybe dreamboat stranger would be free that day.

He parked his car in a rush, regally ignoring all come-ons. His heart skipped a beat as he spotted the Harley. He ran through the dunes like a a schoolgirl through the football field on prom night.

Chris was there, sprawled on the sand like some lazy big cat and Toby's knees went weak. _Chris?_ When had his stranger become Chris?

“Hey” said Toby, fake-casual.

“Hey” Chris shot back with a grin. 

“Your boyfriend's not here today?” 

“What boyfriend?” Chris asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion. He looked cute, like the school's resident bad boy clowning around to get the teacher fuming.

“That blonde guy who dragged you to the dunes yesterday.”

“Oh, him? Nah, just a casual fuck.”

“He seemed pretty hooked. Just making sure he's not going to claw my eyes out.” Toby goofed, pretending to look around fearfully.

Chris laughed heartily and gave Toby a saucy look. “They all get hooked. Care to find out why?” He waved at the sand next to him.

“Well, I've always had an inquisitive nature” Toby said coyly, lying down on his towel next to Chris.

“Brains and looks, ain't it my lucky day?” Chris was blatantly flirting now, and the attention made Toby dizzy.

Toby held out his hand. “Tobias Beecher. You can call me Toby.”

“Toby Toby Toby” Chris repeated, as though tasting the name on his tongue “Chris Keller.”

 _How do I already know that?_ shot through Toby's mind as Chris took his hand and pressed it to his lips.

A few hours flew as they chatted casually in the sun, goofed around and raced each other in the water. Toby had never received such sustained attention from a casual fuck, never received such sustained attention from anyone period. He felt suspended in limbo, disconnected from any point of reference, relieved from any expectation, so when Chris, straddling his ass as he massaged sunscreen on Toby's back, rocked himself into his crack and suggested in is ear that they take this to the dunes, it felt like the moment Toby had been waiting for all his life.

Chris led him by the hand to the most secluded corner of the dunes and laid him in the sand. Toby complied easily, pulling Chris on top of him, shoving his tongue in his mouth, relinquishing control and taking it all at once. He let Chris lick and suck every inch of his skin, and marked him back with his claws. He opened himself to Chris' tongue, fingers and cock, yearning, with every fibers of his being, to feel himself liberated from the burden of the world.

When Chris' hands tightened around his throat, an alarm bell went off in Toby's mind _No! No! No!_ But he ignored it, confused, unsure where it came from. It wasn't like he'd never tried erotic asphyxiation with casual fucks and even if, he had become quite skilled at shrugging off his own self-preservation. The hands tightened, tightened, and Toby felt himself go dizzy, felt panic looming in his gut, threatening to engulf him. Deep down he knew, he knew this was no ordinary game, he knew something dreadful was about to happen, something he could never, ever come back from. Then everything went black, with blinding stars behind his eyes.

Toby came to with a deep sense of peace, every nerve ending tingling. He had never felt so perfectly content, nor so completely detached from the world at once. He remembered an old friend from Harvard, desperate to save Toby from his wicked ways, describing to him the ecstasy of the mystic becoming one with his God. Toby let out a giddy laugh. He'd just had a mystical experience from some spectacular kinky fuck. Chris took a pause from stroking his hair and looked at him curiously, smiling a loopsided grin as Toby continued laughing. He placed a soft kiss on Toby's lips, shushing him, then held eye contact as he slithered down his body, licking Toby's release from his stomach and cock, disappearing from sight to lick his own come from Toby's hole.

Toby lay still, basking in the sun, lulled by the elegant sweeps of the seagulls above him. He held out his hand and felt Keller take it.

***

On Monday morning, a familiar face stared at Toby from the paper at breakfast.

_**Harvard student killed in tragic boating accident.** _

_The body of Bryce Tibbets, 21, was found on Saturday on Two Mile Hollow beach. Tibbets was holidaying in the family summer house. He allegedly ran into peril while sailing his yacht through the bay._

Toby went white as he dropped his orange juice on the floor.

That face was imprinted in his mind. That face, pleading, wheezing, getting red as the young man choked, then white as the light went off in his eyes. It was all too clear. Toby's drunken hallucinations were never that clear.

 _Boating accident, my ass_ Toby thought angrily. There had been no wind that night. Everyone knew what went on at Two Mile Hollow. Toby felt sick at his own class that cared more about maintaining appearances than getting their son's death properly investigated.

He didn't pause to wonder why the brunt of his anger was directed at bereaved parents rather than the killer.

***

Later he met Chris at the beach. Vaguely, he knew he should have thought of Chris' hands choking Bryce Tibbets to death, but he only could feel these hands on his throat, bringing him to the first Heaven that didn't lay at the bottom of a bottle. Chris' lips lovingly kissing the bruises on his throat as he caught his breath raggedly.

They fucked again in the dunes, then took a ride along the coast on Chris' bike, Toby proudly riding bitch. With the salty wind blowing in his hair and his crotch pressed to Chris' leathers, he'd never felt so free. 

***

Toby knew his excuses to escape social obligations and family responsibilities were becoming increasingly feeble, but he could not find it in himself to care. He watched as from outside, a dispassionate observer waiting for all his lies to blow up, eagerly awaiting the spectacular implosion of a life he had never really wanted. He knew that, when the moment came, it would be magnificent. Regardless of his other faults, Toby had always been an overachiever. 

Every day, he rushed to the beach to meet Chris, and never came back home before the early hours, letting himself into the pool house. He hardly remembered what Gen looked like but could trace from memory every single scar on Chris' body.

***

Unfortunately, the world seemed hell-bent on thwarting Toby's best efforts to keep it at bay. 

On Thursday, he was tangled up with Chris on the beach, giggling like schoolboys as they brushed sand off each other after a very public sixty-nine session, when a dark shadow loomed over them and the sound of a throat clearing demanded their attention. 

“Gentlemen...” they looked up to a besuited man staring down at them.

“Agent Taylor, FBI. I'm here to ask you if you have any information about the death of Bryce Tibbets”.

Toby noticed Chris' face shut down. He pretended to blink against the sun as he looked innocently up at Taylor.

“Tibbets? That's the young man who died in a boating accident last week-end, isn't it?”

Taylor's eyes bore deep into Toby's. 

“That's the version the family chose to give the media to be allowed to grieve in peace” The frown on Taylor's face hinted he was not too happy with this decision, but had not been able to go against a powerful family's PR machine. 

“All we know is that his body was found on this beach about half a day after his death, and that he bore injuries similar to those found on the bodies of two other young men found dead last spring break.” 

Taylor paused for emphasis, staring intently into Toby's eyes, Keller eerily silent at their side. “And several men on this beach affirm they saw your boyfriend here in company of Tibbets the afternoon preceding his death.” 

Toby took Keller's hand in his own and stared Taylor down haughtily “And I'm also his lawyer and advising him not to say a single word to you without consulting me first.”

“Calm down, Mr Beecher.” Taylor gave him a wolfish grin as he casually dropped his name “this is just an informal conversation. Mr Keller is not being charged with anything.” 

Once Taylor left, they retired to the dunes but Keller was oddly subdued. Delicately, he framed Toby's face between his hands and dropped the gentlest of kisses on his eyelids, his lips. 

“I'm a worthless piece of shit, Toby, you should run the fuck off before it's too late. Run and never look back.”

Toby hugged him fiercely, cradling his head, stroking the short dark hair. “I'm never letting go of you, Keller, so don't you fucking dare telling me what to do.”

“Unless I beg you to...” he added in a coy whisper, and Keller let out a little laugh in his neck.

They returned to the beach closer than ever, walking hand in hand in the late afternoon sun. While, since that very first time, sex with Chris had always been spectacular, something had been different today. They'd made love. Toby realized that, for all his considerable experience, he'd never made love with a man before. He wasn't even sure he'd ever made love at all.

***

The next day, Taylor left them undisturbed, but they could feel his brooding presence looming over them as he patrolled the beach, randomly stopping to talk to people, and a heavy silence hung between them as they lay in each other's arms.

“Yo, Keller, man!” 

Toby raised himself on an elbow to peer at the intruder. Balding dark hair, a little soft in the face, nothing to write home about. 

“Hey, Ronnie, what's up man?” It seemed Keller knew that guy. 

“The usual, man, the usual. But we don't see you around anymore.”

Keller shrugged helplessly “I've had my hands full with Toby here.” He played with Toby's curls and gave Ronnie a salacious wink for emphasis.

“So you're the famous Toby” Ronnie drawled, giving him a seemingly unimpressed once-over. Toby couldn't help feeling smug that Chris had blabbed about him to random acquaintances.

“Whatever, man. I'll see you around. Have fun.” Ronnie took off.

“He's just a casual fuck, too?” Toby asked sharply.

“Who? Ronnie?” Keller looked bewildered, then burst out laughing like the idea of Ronnie as a sexual object was the most ludicrous thing ever “Nah, just an old buddy.” 

“Why, you jealous To-be?” Keller teased him, pressing a playful finger on his nose.

Toby batted him off, peeved. Keller caught his hand and trapped it in the sand above his head, looming over Toby. 

“You've got nothing to be jealous about, Toby” he whispered intently against his lips “No one to be jealous of, ever. Ever.” He silently bore his eyes into Toby's, waiting for a sign that he understood. Toby nodded solemnly.

Later, Toby was in the dunes alone to take a piss when he saw Ronnie in intent conversation with Agent Taylor. He could not get close enough to hear what they were saying, but he saw Ronnie take a card from the agent.

As he made his way back to the beach, Ronnie cornered him and Toby shuddered. Had Ronnie caught him observing them? He shouldn't have worried as his preoccupations turned out much cruder.

“Guys like you, Keller sniffs at their ass all the time. But they ain't ever here for long, if you get my drift. So enjoy him while you can, To-by.” He gave a evil grin and took off.

As he walked back to Keller, Toby knew he had already made up his mind.

***

Later that night, Keller dropped his bike at his place then walked out the fire escape to the back where Toby picked him up in his car. 

Together, they drove off to Ronnie's room above his garage, and Toby waited in the car while Keller had a chat with his old friend. 

When he ran back, the garage was in flame and Keller had a wild look in his eyes. Toby hit the gas but Keller made him stop only two blocks away. They could still see the flames dancing high above the rooftops.

Keller's eyes were dark and unfocused as he roughly pushed Toby against the window, fumbling with their pants before spitting in his hand and shoving himself inside him. Toby wailed in pain, the intrusion just made bearable by remnants of lube and come from an earlier tryst on the beach. Keller linked their hands on the glass, biting and sucking at Toby's neck.

As he let himself be utterly possessed, Toby watched the flames and fantasized he could smell the acrid stench of Ronnie Barlog's burning flesh.

***

At 6am on Saturday morning, Toby got a phone call from Keller saying he had been brought for questioning for the murders of Bryce Tibbets, Byam Lewis and Mark Carachi. Toby poured himself some coffee, took out his best suit and got ready for the warpath Never once did he glance at the bottle of gin.

At 8am, Toby strutted into the police station, all suited up and radiating casual confidence in his own superiority. His wife was divorcing him, he'd made his Mother cry and by tomorrow, his name would be on all the papers' front pages and all the country club's lips, but he had never felt so himself and so free.

“Good morning Agent Taylor” he greeted as he entered the interrogation room, not sparing Chris a single glance “I have the regret to inform you that I am stepping down as Christopher Keller's attorney.”

In the corner of his eyes, he could see Chris' betrayed look. He looked so much like an abandoned child, and so little like a sadistic killer that Toby felt his heart ache and he almost ran to hug him. But the gloating look on Taylor's face was too good to miss. Toby deserved his fun too, so Keller could stew a few more seconds.

“... as I will now testify in his defense.” Toby continued as though he'd never paused, barely repressing a manic cackle at the looks of pure bewilderment on both Taylor's and Keller's faces. 

“I was with Mr Keller the whole night of the Tibbets murder, in my Mother's pool house. I brought him there at about 8pm and only let him go at 6am. Well, I was forced to leave him to his own devices a few times to entertain my other guests, but never for long.” He gave Taylor a salacious grin and a wink “As my mother's house is a good 45 minutes drive from Two Mile Hollow, I doubt this will be of consequence.”

“Mr Keller's defense will now be assured by my father, Harrison Beecher. I first hoped that it would be possible to prove Mr Keller's innocence without bringing unwanted attention to my private life but, in light of the harassment Mr Keller has been subjected to by the FBI, I have no choice but to do what is right, regardless of the consequences for my family. Any other course of action would be betraying the deep commitment to Justice my father worked so hard to instill in me.” 

At that moment, Toby wished the lawyerly dress code was not so conservative: he doubted he'd ever get a more perfect occasion for sleeve flourish in the rest of his sorry existence.

***

Toby paid the caution, marched Keller towards his car and drove off.

“I'll see you tonight.” Toby said, dropping a casual peck on Keller's lips as they stopped in front of his apartment building. 

“What if I have other plans?” 

“Then it might come back to me just how drunk I was that night... How the wild night we spent together was just me jerking off all alone in my Mother's pool house...”

Keller grinned at him, unperturbed. “They'll have you out for perjury.”

Toby shrugged airily. “Oh sure, I'll get disbarred. But I doubt they'll go much further once they learn how you threatened my little brother to make me sing your tune. Blond, twenties, Ivy league wholesome all-American boy, he's just your type isn't he, Chris?”

Chris just glared at him so Toby continued. “... How you threatened my son...”

Chris' jaw dropped and he looked at Toby with pure hatred in his eyes. Pure hatred and maybe something that resembled admiration. “You fucking bastard! How the fuck old is your...”

“Six” Toby helpfully supplied with a pleasant smile.

Chris' eyes went wide and Toby saw a tremor run though his body. “You evil perverted bitch! I'd never touch a kid! Never touched a kid!”

Toby smiled and held out his hands in a placating peace offering. “Oh, I know! I know all about your tastes, Keller. It's not me you got to convince, but all the upstanding citizens of East Hampton.” Toby raised an eyebrow and looked up, pretending to consider his options. “So yeah, I'll grant you that, I'd spend the next 30 years pushing papers at Daddy's firm. But you'd fry, Keller.” He paused an instant for dramatic effect. “You'd fry before anyone has the time to scream 'Fire!' “.

“You filthy lying coscksucking manipulative bitch “ Keller snarled as he pushed Toby down on the driver's seat.

Toby went limp, letting himself be manhandled. “Yes” he moaned, rubbing his ass back against Keller like a cat in heat as Keller tore his pants off. _Yes, that's it, that's what I've been looking for, and I'm not letting it go._

Keller roughly pushed his cock inside Toby, trapping his hands behind his back in a bruising grip. Toby fought the hold just enough to squeeze his captor's fingers.

Keller squeezed back.


End file.
